


Happiness in a Black Jacket

by silkiemae



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, and steve is the light of his life, because bucky is a sad pup, quick little holiday angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkiemae/pseuds/silkiemae





	Happiness in a Black Jacket

 

The rooftop of Stark Industries was shockingly quiet what with all the commotion going on in the streets. New York City was one hell of a place to be right now. The sky was alight with jeweled colors and white fluff falling from the heavens. It landed in icy pillows among the feet of the New Yorkers below, huddled in their fluffy jackets warmed only by their closeness to others and the drink in their stomachs.

 

James Barnes was not warm. He stood at the top of the building gazing down at the people below, remembering a time when it was just as busy but somehow much less chaotic. He remembered ice-skating with a dame on his arm and Stevie watching from the sidelines.

 

 _Stevie_. The thought sent a pang through his chest as he raised his head to glance behind him. He saw nothing but Stark’s name and immediately returned his gaze to the streets below. It wouldn’t be long now until the ball dropped and another year began. Another year in which he should be dead. Another year of tortured memories and waking up covered in sweat, salty tears making their way into the corners of his mouth as he begged whatever god their was just to make him _forget_.

 

He stood on that rooftop alone while the group of that called themselves Avengers celebrated in a room only just behind him, if he listened closely he could just barely hear the music blasting through the room. James wondered if they knew where he was, if they cared at all. If they were thinking good riddance because it was too uncomfortable to celebrate with the enemy—or rather, the previous enemy. He wondered if they would care at all if he just took off and didn’t come back. They wouldn’t dare come outside with how cold it was and so he wondered maybe if he just took a step forward he could disappear into the crowd below. Never come back.

 

He would never do this of course, there was only one thing in that room keeping him tethered to the rooftop. As if sensing his thoughts, he heard the light footfall behind him—it was incredible how different even his damn walk was. Back in Brooklyn he could barely make it across the street without tripping over himself and alerting an entire nest of birds that he was making his way downtown. Now here he was, silent as an assassin…. again, the thought sent a pang through his chest.

 

Steve came up beside him without saying a word. He wore that brown leather jacket that made James think of his grandfather and for a brief moment wondered if it actually was Steve’s grandfather’s jacket. It was odd now how different the two of them seemed…the two of them were. Both taken out of time with no one but each other left to hold on to. Steve with his morals and painful need to do right by everyone but himself and James just wanted the nightmares to stop. He wanted to be free of this veil of storm clouds that surrounded him wherever he went.

 

Here he was wrapped in a black while Steve stood next to him shining like a damn beacon of light. When Steve looked at him though that light was diminished. James doubted anyone would’ve been able to notice it—no one but him. He knew Steve better then he knew himself and he could hardly remember himself. It was strange when he finally started to remember things it wasn’t things about his life that came back to him. His mother’s name…his favorite color…his own damn age. He remembered Steve’s mom and the fact that Steve used to wear newspapers in his shoes—he remembered the little scrawny kid from Brooklyn who couldn’t say no to a fight because he’d be damned if he let some bully beat him.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asked, his gaze on James—Bucky, that’s what Steve called him. He never went by James. Not unless it was his mother or some girl who thought she was special.

 

“I’m trying to figure out how many more new years I’ll have to go through,” he murmured, looking back out over the crowd. The ball was raised high in the sky still, ready and glimmering in the New York City lights. It was ready to fall and to break but it couldn’t unless someone gave it permission to. “It’s weird how I relate almost everything now to who I am…”

 

“And who’s that?” Steve asked, sidling closer to James—Bucky, not James.

 

“A soldier. I feel it, in the back of my mind like a…like a tick. Like a broken clock saying I need fixing,” he said. He laughed because he knew what fixing for him meant. Being wiped. Biting hard on that black guard and screaming at the top of your lungs but no one cares. The scientists stare at you with cold, impassive eyes while your whole existence gets wiped from your mind and you’re left with nothing but something to melded into what gets the damn job done.

 

Steve looked at Bucky with pained eyes—god, that was the only way he ever looked at him anymore. Like he wanted to reach out and say so much more and do so much more but he was afraid if he did, Bucky would break. “That ticking…maybe it’s you being rewound? Into who you used to be?”

 

Bucky laughed and nodded. “Always finding the optimistic response for your old pal, eh, Stevie?”

 

Steve said nothing but simply grinned and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Come on, Buck, let’s go join the party,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the tower.

 

“I’ll meet you down there,” Bucky said, giving Steve the go ahead to leave him once more. Steve did, with a bit of reluctance and a lot of lingering looks but eventually Bucky was alone once more. He stared at that ball made of glimmering silver and then he looked down at his arm. Sometimes he wished he could rip it off and just walk around with his bloody, scarred stump but the fight would never completely go out of him and as much as he hated to admit it, the arm made him better. Sometimes he feared that the arm would turn against him, as if Hydra could control it from afar. What if it attacked Steve and he could do nothing to stop it; he could do nothing but watch.

 

With a shudder, he shook the image from his head and tore his gaze from that ball. He stood just outside of Stark tower now, watching the people inside. They all had warm smiles on their faces and their cheeks were rosy from the drink. Steve was talking to the red headed girl—Natasha, even if he wished he could forget everything from his time with Hydra he knew he’d always remember her. She was that anchor for him when he had brief flashes of himself. She would smile at him like he was someone new to her but he knew better.

 

After what felt like ages, Bucky finally stepped into the party. He made a beeline for where Steve stood—near the archer, Clint Barton. Clint was quiet and never made any invasive inquiries in Bucky’s life and so Bucky liked Clint. The two nodded to one another until Bucky was suddenly clapped on the back by a very large hand. The glass he’d just grabbed flew from his grasp and shattered on the floor—a very chirpy little robot appeared and swept the mess up.

 

“Forgive me! I was so pleased you’ve decided to join the party I forgot my strength!” Thor shouted. Bucky tried to hide his wince at the giant man’s booming voice but if Thor noticed he said nothing. He let out the strangest laugh with his head thrown back before he took off to the center of the party.

 

Bucky watched the swirling mass of people all dancing and drinking and talking with rosy cheeks and warm, breathy smiles that he immediately felt claustrophobic. He wanted suddenly to return to the rooftop, to breathe in the icy air and let goose pimples raise his arm hairs. He wanted to watch the crowd beneath like the ghost he was. Just as he was about to do just that a warm, familiar hand slipped into his.

 

He glanced down to see Steve intertwining their fingers, a casual little smile playing on his lips as he looked at Bucky. It was almost as if the smile said, _it’s okay, I got you._

 

Bucky let out a long, slow breath, tightening his fingers around Steve’s. Here is an anchor—here is someone to hold on to. The crowd began counting then and he knew the year was coming. He hadn’t noticed Steve shifting closer to him until they were on the last few numbers.

 

_3….2….1_

 

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s in a gentle kiss. Any apprehension Bucky had been feeling disintegrated as the warmth from Steve’s kiss burst through him like a gunshot. Steve pulled away and smiled.

 

“Happy New Years Buck.”

 

Maybe things would be okay, after all.

 


End file.
